Month: May 2005

1. Line up all the dweebs who work for Newsweak.
2. One at a time, the personnel at gitmo give swirlies to a single employee until the Gitmo personnel are too pooped to give that ONE dweeb another swirly. (Gonna take a while: those marines are in good shape.)
3. Rest the Gitmo personnel for tomorrow’s lesson taught to the next Newsweak dweeb.
4. Keep the newsweak dweebs standing in line while the Gitmo folks nap.
5. Repeat with next Newsweak dweeb until all have toilet-fresh hair.

 On Friday, May 20, Kerry obtained a copy of Form 180 and signed it. ”The next step is to send it to the Navy, which will happen in the next few days. The Navy will then send out the records,” e-mailed Wade [a Kerry staff worker]. Kerry first said he would sign Form 180 when pressed by Tim Russert during a Jan. 30 appearance on ”Meet the Press.”

”I have signed it,” Kerry said. Then, he added that his staff was ”still going through it” and ”very, very shortly, you will have a chance to see it.”

“114 days ago, John Kerry promised, on national TV, to sign form SF-180 and release his military records. He has yet to do so.”

Kerry moved his email form to http://kerry.senate.gov/v3/contact/email.html .

“NOTE: In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. section 107, this material is distributed without profit or payment to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving this information for non-profit research and educational purposes only.”

http://kerry.senate.gov/v3/contact/email.html

 

 

The Grave of the Hundred Head

 

by Rudyard Kipling.
 
   There’s a widow in sleepy Chester
   Who weeps for her only son;
   There’s a grave on the Pabeng River,
   A grave that the Burmans shun;
   And there’s Subadar Prag Tewarri
   Who tells how the work was done.
 
A Snider squibbed in the jungle-
Somebody laughed and fled,
And the men of the First Shikaris
Picked up their Subaltern dead,
With a big blue mark in his forehead
And the back blown out of his head.
 
Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Jemadar Hira Lal,
Took command of the party,
Twenty rifles in all,
Marched them down to the river
As the day was beginning to fall.
 
They buried the boy by the river,
A blanket over his face-
They wept for their dead Lieutenant,
The men of an alien race-
They made a samadh in his honour,
A mark for his resting-place.
 
For they swore by the Holy Water,
They swore by the salt they ate,
That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib
Should go to his God in state,
With fifty file of Burmans
To open him Heaven’s Gate.
 
The men of the First Shikaris
Marched till the break of day,
Till they came to the rebel village
The village of Pabengmay-
A jingal covered the clearing,
Caltrops hampered the way.
 
Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Biddin8 them load with ball,
Halted a dozen rifles
Under the village wall;
Sent out a flanking-party
With Jemadar Hira Lal.
The men of the First Shikaris
Shouted and smote and slew,
Turning the grinning jingal
On to the howling crew.
The Jemadar’s flanking-party
Butchered the folk who flew.
 
Long was the morn of slaughter,
Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
Five score heads and twain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
Went back to their grave again,
 
Each man bearing a basket
Red as his palms that day,
Red as the blazing village-
The village of Pabengmay
And the “drip-drip-drip” from the baskets
Reddened the grass by the way
 
They made a pile of their trophies
High as a tall man’s chin,
Head upon head distorted,
Set in a sightless grin,
Anger and pain and terror
Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin.
 
Subadar Prag Tewarri
Put the head of the Boh
On the top of the mound of triumph,
The head of his son below-
With the sword and the peacock banner
That the world might behold and know.
Thus the samadh was perfect,
Thus was the lesson plain
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris-
The price of white man slain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
Went back into camp again.
 
Then a silence came to the river,
A hush fell over the shore,
And Bohs that were brave departed,
And Sniders squibbed no more;
For the Burmans said
That a white man’s head
Must be paid for with heads five-score.
 
 
   There’s a widow in sleepy Chester
   Who weeps for her only son;
   There’s a grave on the Pabeng River,
   A grave that the Burmans shun;
   And there’s Subadar Prag Tewarri
   Who tells how the work was done.

 

This one piece is precisely the one I wish I had written. The one I wish I could have written. He explains what I fumbled around, ties together all that I wish I could have thought of, and concludes exactly the way I wish I could have. And so much BETTER.

Damn.